Angel Dust
by cake-error
Summary: America's high on angel dust after World War II. Afterwards, he totally spazzes out and his personality takes a 180, and only one person can subdue him...sorta.


America's high on angel dust after World War II. Afterwards, he totally spazzes out and his personality takes a 180, and only one person can subdue him.

Don't ask how I came up with it. Assume this is after America sustains a grievous injury somehow, during WWII. And I gave England's magical friends random names.

* * *

"It's only phenylcyclohexyl piperidine. Phencyclidine, for short. We used it as anesthesia. It should be completely flushed from his system in about eight days, the effects _should_ wear off in a few hours-"

"What do you mean, 'should?'" Canada's voice was panicky and high pitched. "I can't even deal with him when he's drunk for a few minutes-he's high and you expect me to manage him for a few _hours_?" His voice cracked up a few notches and shot through several octaves on the last word.

The doctor winced and covered his ears. "Really, Mr. Williams, if you feel uncomfortable dealing with him by yourself, then you should get someone else to help you. He can't be that bad."

_Famous last words,_ he thought. Oh, how right he was.

_~! now a few minutes later !~_

"-and now he's high and if it doesn't wear off he can't go to tomorrow's meeting and I can't even manage him now and I need you guys to all help him and-"

England cut him off. "Matthew! Calm down! He...well, let me see him." Mother hen instinct taking over, he walked past him (_who?_) to see America.

"Bloody hell."

America was talking to thin air, or rather, shrieking about something in a voice so high pitched he couldn't tell what he was even saying. An impossibly wide grin was plastered across his face as he saw England. "Arthur~!" He leapt up and hugged him, bowling him over and crushing his shoulders.

"A-Alfred, g-get off of me, y-ou're crus-shing me!" America ran off and curled up into a ball, fingers twitching and eyes darting across the room. He clenched his arms, clawing at his skin. "Get _away_ from me!" He panted and screamed.

He shot Canada a look. "This...might get hard at times."

"Understatement of the century," he muttered under his breath. "I think the rest of the feelings of his people must be adding to it and kind of magnifying it. There's no way he'd be like this normally. Did you call the rest of the Allies? We need as many people as possible."

He nodded and began to approach America cautiously. "Alfred?" He nodded spasmodically, still blinking rapidly, watching something invisible dart across the room. "There's something following you, Arthur." He rolled his eyes. Poor child must be hallucinating, because Flying Mint Bunny was _obviously _safely at home with Ms. Fairy and Paul the unicorn awaiting his return.

"Just try to calm down, America." The American was already looking at his brother, whose bear he took and began to pet. "Don't you just love him?"

Canada paled. "Give me back Kumakichi!"

"Kumajiro. Who?"

"Oh, be quiet, Kumataro! Alfred, give him baaaack!" He pulled his bear back and watched in fear as his brother proceeded to rip apart his couch while doing an amazingly accurate chainsaw impersonation.

"Oh, hi there, Mattie!~" He smiled blindingly and then sat cross-legged on the floor, swaying disorientatedly in time to some tune in his head. His expression was one of bliss and utter ecstasy. They sighed in unison. _Finally_.

Too soon.

His eyes snapped open, limbs shaking with manic energy as he lunged forward. "_Get away, they're coming_!" He pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and aimed it around the room shakily.

England tried to snatch it out of his hand and scolded Canada. "Why did you let him keep the gun?"

He panicked and flailed his hands. "I thought he only had two guns today! I didn't know he kept an extra!"

France slammed the door open. "Canada told me poor little America was-oh. _Oh._ I see." He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, which England eyed warily. "Why...do you have handcuffs?"

He rolled his eyes. "Always be prepared."

"For bondage sex?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes." England decided to change the subject. "Help me - _ow! America, when you're back to normal I'm going to kill you _- get him, you useless frog!"

The three of them managed to pin his arms behind his back, and France cuffed him to a table. "There. These handcuffs are strong enough for even America, I think-"

America ripped his arms free, the drug augumenting his already supernatural strength.

_Another set of famous last words,_ Canada thought.

He stood up slowly, staring at his hands in awe. "Awesome!" He crowed happily. He looked around for his gun, only to see it dangling from England's hands. "You're not getting it back until you're sober!"

China walked through the open door. "I hear you all screaming from my house, aru! What the hell is going on?" He took one look at the situation and spoke to England. "In all my four thousand years, I've never seen someone like this, ahen. Not even with the opium wars. What are we going to do?" America was currently swatting away invisible flies.

The door once again slammed open, now hanging off of its hinges. Canada mustered all of his courage and screamed, "IF SOMEONE SLAMS THAT DOOR OPEN ONE MORE TIME, I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!"

"Angry, aren't you, da?" Russia smiled and tucked his scarf tightly around his neck whilen Canada hid under a table and quaked in fright. "America is high, da?"

America perked up at the sound of Russia's childish voice and stood quickly, and before anyone could react, he had crossed the room and hugged the larger man. "A-America?" He blushed and hugged him tentatively.

The American rocked back and forth dizzily again and kissed him passionately. The other nations looked away and were too busy pretending to be engrossed in that really _amazing_ painting over there on the wall and _dammit they were not interested or even turned on by this no way in hell!_

Russia gasped for air. "I...I think I can blame this on his being high, d-da?" His voice was shaky as he let one arm wrap loosely around America's waist. Said nation was currently nuzzling his chest and mumbling words that must have been in Russian because Russia was turning beet red and gaping like a fish.

China was deathly pale. "I don't think I want to find out."

* * *

Phenylcyclohexyl piperidine, or phencyclidine, for short is called angel dust or angel hair. Yup.

Don't ask.


End file.
